


Age is Only a Number

by noblydonedonnanoble



Category: Doctor Who RPF
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-29
Updated: 2012-10-29
Packaged: 2017-11-17 08:16:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/549485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/noblydonedonnanoble/pseuds/noblydonedonnanoble
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a nice, fluffy universe--because sometimes, we need fluff.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Age is Only a Number

                Catherine is gazing into the mirror above the sink for what feels like the hundredth time today. I can tell, just from the slightly frustrated expression on her face, that she’s not particularly happy with what she sees. She’s biting her lip, and her eyes keep scanning the reflection for _something_ —I can’t tell quite what.

                “Stop inspecting yourself,” I say after a few moments. Without allowing room for a response, I stop leaning against the doorframe and go into our bedroom. “You look lovely.”

                Glancing back, I see her reflection; it’s blushing. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she replies as she comes to join me.

                I’m sitting at the foot of the bed, and as I watch, she pulls out a nightgown and begins to change. After discarding her shirt, she absent-mindedly glances down at herself and I see her expression darken again.

                “Tell me, Catherine.” I stand up and move behind her, putting a hand on each arm. I lean in close to her ear. “Why are you suddenly looking at yourself like you hate everything you see?”

                She bites her lip again. “That’s ridiculous.”

                “Ah yes. Alright.” I turn away, returning to my spot on the bed. “Because I don’t know my own wife well enough to notice when she suddenly seems to lose all of her self-confidence. That makes sense.”

                “Oh, David, come off it.” Catherine slips the nightgown over her head. “You’re imagining things.”

                I don’t know how hard I should fight her on this. My Catherine, the one that I know and love, is more sure of herself than this. Something is wrong. And I want her to tell me what, because Catherine and I always tell each other what’s wrong.

                But I don’t make up my mind to pursue the topic any further until we’re both crawling under the blankets and she’s turning out the light.

                As soon as we’re lying together in the dark, I press on. “So Catherine, what’s wrong?”

                “David.”

                Her tone is a warning, but I ignore it. I’ve found that I’m quite good at that. “C’mon, darling. These past few weeks, you’ve been acting… off. It’s just worrying me, is all.” There’s just enough light that I can see the outline of her face, and I reach out to brush her cheek. “I don’t like seeing you unhappy.”

                “I’m not unhappy.”

                “How many times do I have to say that you can’t lie to me before you believe it?”

                For the longest time, I think she’s just decided to ignore me and fall asleep. But then she sits up and switches on the lamp. “My birthday is next week.”

                I sit up too, smiling now. “Yes. Are you worried that I’ve forgotten? Because I can assure you—“

                “No, David.” She laughs and shakes her head slightly. “It’s not that. It’s just… I’m going to be 50.”

                “And?”

                “And I look old.”

                Immediately, I want to laugh, or possibly scream—laugh because the concept of Catherine looking _old_ is absurd, scream because it feels like the most direct way to inform Catherine how absurd the idea really is.

                But instead of laughing or screaming, I decide to keep my voice at a very neutral sort of decibel. “You do not.”

                “You’re just saying that because you feel obligated to make me feel better.”

                Now that’s a mentality that I’ve never understood; I compliment her, and she says I’m just being nice. “Not true.”

                “So if you thought I looked bad, you would tell me?”

                I frown. “Is this a trick question? I feel like this is a trick question. A no-sex-for-the-rest-of-eternity-regardless-of-the-answer type of question.”

                “Right.” She grimaces. “You’re deflecting my question.”

                “I am not!” I pause and run over her question in my mind, looking for the answer that defies the no-sex-for-the-rest-of-eternity rule. “Probably not. But it’s a moot point, because I never think you look bad. When we’re in wheelchairs and old and wrinkled, I will still think you’re the most beautiful woman in the world.”

                Catherine rolls her eyes and reaches to turn off the light. “Alright, David. Goodnight.”

                “Oi!” She pauses with her finger on the switch, and looks at me with a slightly alarmed expression. “Do you think I would say something like that insincerely?”

                “Maybe.”

                I scan her face. Perhaps because she’s frowning, I can distinctly see the wrinkles, see the age in her face that’s been driving her so mad. And I really, genuinely think she’s the most beautiful woman in the world, wrinkles or no. But she looks so uncertain, and I don’t know what to say that will make it better.

                “Why don’t you believe me?” I murmur.

                “I see the same person when I look into the mirror that you see right now.”

                “Do you?” With renewed determination, I jump out of bed and walk around to her side, holding out a hand. “C’mon, then.”

                She looks skeptical. “David?”

                “Catherine,” I say, doing my best to mimic her stern tone.

                After a moment, she takes my hand and I pull her up, although I can tell that she’s just patronizing me. I lead her to our bedroom door and push it shut, and stand her in front of the mirror that sits on the other side. “Tell me what you see.”

                “Darling, I want to go to sleep.”

                “Humor me. Go on.”

                With a last look at me, she directs her attention to the mirror and takes a deep breath. “I don’t know. I see myself.”

                I laugh and shake my head. “No, no, no. What do you see that’s been making you so agitated?”

                “I see…” Catherine steps a bit closer to the mirror, and starts to truly examine herself. “Crows’ feet.” Her fingers come up to her eyes and she brushes the wrinkles on the side of one eye. “And bags under my eyes. Oh, the wrinkles around my mouth are ghastly.” As an afterthought, she looks at me through the mirror and mutters, “If this is your way of making me feel better, David, you’re not doing a very good job.”

                “Do you want to know what I see?”

                “What?”

                “You heard.” I wrap my arms around her waist and pull her against me. “But I will take your feigned confusion as consent.”

                “But—“

                I ignore her. “I see a beautiful woman who… loves to laugh. Who, perhaps, has gone through some trying times… Full of frowns and crying and nights spent tossing and turning. But also a woman who’s full of joy, who has lived life and has enjoyed living it. And,” I add, squeezing her gently. “Who has plenty of life to live yet. Equally full of happiness.”

                She turns in my arms so that she’s facing away from the mirror. There’s a small smile on her face, although I can tell she’s trying to hide it. “I’m happy? That’s your idea of a pep talk?”

                “People don’t get wrinkles from being indifferent all the time!” I exclaim. “You react to your environment. Something good happens, and you smile and laugh. Something bad happens, you frown and you cry. You’re _living your life_ , Catherine. Don’t you think that’s beautiful?”

                And, finally, she smiles. “That’s a bit corny, don’t you think?”

                “Maybe a bit.” I raise my eyebrows. “Is it helping?”

                In response, she stands on her tiptoes and kisses me. “I love you,” she breathes.

                “I love you too.”

                Catherine is grinning. I can see those wrinkles on her face, those wrinkles that have been driving her mad. And in that moment, I’m fairly certain she’s more beautiful than I’ve ever seen her.


End file.
